


What Gods Put Asunder

by JeziBelle



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Loki As Unrepentant Villain, M/M, emotional manipulation through magic, the Norse god of mischief and deceit is not your woobie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeziBelle/pseuds/JeziBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your avarice is a thing of legend -- you give generously, but only of that which you have no lack of. So we shall see how willing you are to part with what you can’t replace."</p><p>Bruce is dying, nothing is helping, and the only way Tony can save him is to lose him. There's no doubt it's the right decision, but that doesn't make living with the consequences any easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Gods Put Asunder

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline is set vaguely post-Avengers, discounting MCU Phase 2 (IM3/Thor 2/Cap 2 never happen). Tentatively rated T as there's no smut planned, but that might change; I'll put in a note at the beginning of the chapter if it does.
> 
> Big love to dizmo, sabinelagrande and nausiwindstrider for beta!

It almost hurt Natasha to look at them.

It wasn’t like she was unused to seeing their emotions written all over them -- that was her _job_ \-- but with the usual exception of Thor, they were all impressively skilled at covering them up. That wasn’t the case now. Seeing a handful of the strongest, most capable and collected individuals on Earth scraped so raw made it that much more unsettling.

Steve was unmistakably the Captain right now, in an untucked button-up shirt and jeans but with his jaw set, arms folded, feet precisely shoulder width apart. Taking control of the situation because somebody had to. It was a credit to Dr. Castillo’s character that she was undeterred by the presentation; everyone on the Helicarrier shy of Fury, Hill and the Avengers themselves took on a little subconscious humility under that look (even Coulson, which, while understandable in context, was still a bit terrifying).

Natasha’s eyes swept the rest of the room briefly. Thor ran as hot as ever, still in his armor from cleaning up the last of the fight, aching concern etched on his face. He was leaning against the wall, eyes trained on Steve and the doctor, occasionally twirling Mjolnir restlessly between his fingers. It said so much about him that after literally thousands of years in Asgard’s warrior culture, hundreds of human lifetimes of battle and bloodshed, he was so plainly grieved by the suffering of a brother-in-arms. He’d asked almost as many questions as Steve had, about the cause and symptoms and what could possibly be done. His more than passing knowledge of Asgardian magic and its similarity to Earth technology gave him a better understanding than expected, so thankfully little had to be re-explained.

She didn’t even have to look at Clint to know what he was doing: fidgeting. His capacity to stay motionless for hours at a stretch on a mission was countered by a nigh inability to do so during downtime, which went up by an order of magnitude when he was stressed or worried. Natasha couldn’t tell what he was fiddling with; it wasn’t an arrowhead, since he’d changed into street clothes and put his gear away already, so probably a stray piece of medical equipment. Tossing it between his hands, rolling it between his fingers. The other hallmark of a worried Barton was focusing all his worry on somebody else, which would explain the constant sideways glances at Tony.

Who was, very quietly, going to pieces.

He was trying hard to pass it off as just standard nervousness, but one look between him and Clint made the difference clear -- one man worried for his friend, the other fearing the worst for his beloved, after a life almost defined by the loss of the things and people he loved. It had been less than six hours, but Tony looked like he hadn’t slept in several days, his eyes bloodshot, face pale and sunken. His feet twitched against the tile floor, the soles of his sneakers squeaking softly while his heels bounced, and he kept his hands busy in a vain attempt to hide their shaking. Natasha had watched this man stare death in the face twice over, but he had never, ever looked so close to the edge of his own sanity as he did right now.

Steve’s eyes cut to the left, his brows knitted. “You have anything that can help with that, Tony?”

He looked up with a start, taking a second to realize who was talking. “Do what now?”

Dr. Castillo cleared her throat. “The virus -- if it _is_ a virus, that’s still just our best guess -- seems to be somehow strengthened by the background radiation in Dr. Banner’s body, almost feeding on it. Whatever it is, it was most definitely developed to affect gamma-mutated individuals, quite possibly him in particular. Any kind of therapy or treatment either of you had developed to even temporarily lessen his body’s gamma output would at least give us some room to get ahead of it.”

Tony took a deep breath, then shook his head. “We played at it some, but the levels were low enough not to be harmful to others on a daily basis, so it was on the back burner. It’s... months out from being functional, even if I had his help with it.”

Steve’s hands moved to his hips as he looked back to the doctor. “How long do we prospectively have?”

Her lips pursed, fingers tightening a bit around the edge of her clipboard. “Not months.”

After a few moments’ painful silence, Dr. Castillo cleared her throat. “We’ve only gone through a couple of our possible treatment options. There are a handful more drugs we can try, though again, we’re flying quite blind. His condition is deteriorating steadily, but not overly rapidly, so we should at least have several days to keep trying.”

When the word _days_ left her mouth, Tony’s twitching knees came to an abrupt stop.

Natasha lifted her head slightly. “You have both SHIELD’s and the Avengers’ approval to do absolutely anything necessary or promising. If you can come up with it, try it.”

“That’s most certainly our plan.” Dr. Castillo smiled curtly. “But on that note, they’ll need me in the lab shortly. I’ll update all of you as soon as anything major happens either way.”

The doctor turned and headed back down the hallway; she’d made it about ten yards away when Tony abruptly pushed to his feet. “I’m gonna hit the john.” He shoved past Natasha and down the hallway, shoulders hunched, hands jammed in his pockets.

The four remaining exchanged glances, but none of them made move to follow. The day had been emotionally draining enough; no one was feeling up to watching Tony Stark cry.

~~

He should have known. He should have goddamn well known all along.

There had been a tiny part of him that relished in the Hulk. After a lifetime of having the important things in his life destroyed or taken away from him, he’d thrilled a little in loving a man who was indestructible. The moments of panic when Steve’s voice cut from the comm mid-sentence or Clint took a little too long to respond after a bad hit were bad enough. Bruce’s mental state after a fight could vary -- there were some hard nights -- and sometimes he had to be fetched from incredibly silly places that the big guy had seen fit to leave him. But he was, without fail, physically intact. It was nice to have one thing not to worry about, one crisis that wouldn’t happen, one piece of bad news he could count on not to come.

 _That’s what you fucking get, Stark._ He leaned on his elbows against the bathroom wall, his fists clenching, forehead resting on the cold tile. _You knew better than that._

He wasn’t crying, not really, but he didn’t bother holding back the tears creeping from his tightly shut eyes. It had taken a year and a half of devoted friendship, nearly another year of awkward, tentative attempts at romance, but they’d finally pulled it together. They were solid now, stable. _Bruce_ was stable. He had a home, and friends, something that passed for family when it needed to, and a daily routine and all the research he could do, and loving arms to fall asleep in at the end of the day. He had hobbies again, for Christ’s sake; he’d taken up calligraphy, of all things, and done a couple of gorgeous renderings of mathematical theorems that Tony had promptly had framed and put on the walls. He’d talked on and off about getting a cat, and said _we_ when he first brought it up and nearly given Tony a stroke. He was happy, human, everything Tony had wanted desperately to give him from the first few days they’d managed to have conversations that weren’t directly involving the impending destruction of Earth.

He couldn’t even remember how it felt to be in that huge bed alone anymore. He didn’t want to. Soft footsteps echoed through the empty bathroom, and he thanked God he’d thought to close the stall door behind himself.

“Oh, don’t mention it. No problem at all, really.”

The voice would have been jarring enough if it _hadn’t_ come from two feet behind him, inside the fucking bathroom stall, but the fraction of a second it took to place it in his mind made it so unsurprising as to almost be disappointing.

Tony took a slow, deep breath. “Well, that answers that question.” He gave himself half a moment to steel his features before turning around, folding his arms. “You know, I was actually going to be impressed with whoever engineered that gamma bug. Almost a shame it was just standard issue Douchegardian finger-waggling.”

Loki barked out a laugh, clasping his hands neatly in front of him. “Oh, Master Stark. In such a rush to lash out at the first available scapegoat. For having such a public split with your country’s military, you certainly still follow their standard procedures remarkably well.” He held up one finger. “But, you may rest easy on that front. Your beloved’s current state, while regrettable, is no work of mine, and thus your grand scientific mystery remains intact.” He frowned softly, his brows furrowing in a disgustingly false look of concern. “Of course, if things continue apace, you’ll have more than enough time on your hands to delve into that little problem.”

“Cut the shit, you miserable little cockweasel.” Tony’s voice came in a dark hiss. “Do whatever you’re here to do, wave your dick around, take ten points from Gryffindor and get the fuck out of my face.”

“What I’m here to _do_ , Stark, is to offer my assistance.” Loki had the grace to sound offended by the insinuation of his ill intent. “I am not the most prolific sorcerer Asgard has ever known by _chance_ , nor by limiting my studies. And one does not learn magic in a realm of warriors without significant study of the healing arts.”

Tony’s eyebrows rose, his gaze only growing darker. “So you’re here to offer to save the life of the guy who used you to knock a crater into a marble floor. You’ll excuse the sneezing fit I’m about to have, I have a severe allergy to _bullshit_.”

Loki’s cool demeanor didn’t waver. He was clearly less shakable than the last time they’d met face to face -- although, Tony thought, not being in command of an army that was getting its collective face rocked off probably had a lot to do with that. “My specialty is chaos, Stark. Trickery, mischief. Keeping the realms on their toes, especially those within them who deem themselves mighty.” A thin, icy smile spread across his lips. “And there isn’t much on your sad little planet more effective at creating chaos than your lover’s... _companion_ , is there?”

Tony rubbed his forehead. “Right, right, god of petty bullshit. So you want him alive for some reason, some great master plan down the road, whatever. For the sake of curiosity, I’ll buy that.” He matched Loki’s level gaze with his own, decades of media training and corporate negotiations kicking in without thought. “So the next obvious plot point is that you’re going to offer me some kind of heart-wrenching Faustian deal, right? My life for his, some shit like that?”

Loki responded with an exaggerated hurt expression. “Your _life_? You truly think I’m that unsubtle?”

“You’re the guy who opened a wormhole on my roof, you tell me.”

The wayward god considered this a moment, then tilted his head. “Point conceded. But still incorrect. My price is far less traumatic than all that.” Something shifted in his eyes; Tony half swore they somehow sharpened, came into stronger focus before him. “To put it simply, his life for his love. Your avarice is a thing of legend -- you give generously, but only of that which you have no lack of. So we shall see how willing you are to part with what you can’t replace.”

Tony snorted softly. “Really? I thought you were supposed to be the smart brother. ‘You break up or he dies’ is not the Sophie’s Choice you seem to think it is.”

“I’m not going to _kill_ him, Stark.” Loki’s expression was bland. “Just not heal him. You still have all the wonders of human medical technology at your disposal and... what did she say? Several days in which to try them? For all you know they may be finding the cure as we speak.” He gave an obnoxiously casual little shrug. “For that matter, your little affair may run its course on its own time, as well. I’m simply offering to solidify some of the possible outcomes. Life isn’t known for guarantees, after all.” His head tilted slightly. “Nor is _yours_ known for skewing to favorable outcomes when left to its own devices.”

The room went silent. After a moment of tense staring, Tony folded his arms, something dimly related to sympathy flickering across his face. “You really don’t know the first thing about love, do you?”

Before Loki could reply, he waved one hand dismissively in the air. “Do it.”

The trickster’s thin smile returned, a bit more vicious than before. “So easy to throw it all away, is it?”

“If thinking that’s how it is helps you sleep at night, I’m not gonna stop you.” Tony’s demeanor had snapped back into business mode, with his less literal iron mask securely back in place. “How’s this work? I just go in there and he’s forgotten we were ever a thing?”

“No, no, erasing _everyone’s_ memories of the affair is far too much bother.” Loki followed the behavioral cue politely, his tone cool and professional. “His feelings will simply change over the next few months, his affection wane. He’ll try his best to let you down easy, remain friendly; having him suddenly not _like_ you after this long would be too suspicious.” He seemed rather disappointed by that. “The romance just wasn’t meant to last. If it ever was.”

Tony took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Right. We done here? If all you’ve got left is to gloat, you can do that to the mirrors, I got shit to do.”

Loki laughed sharply. “Of course, of course. Can’t keep you from your adoring public.” He stepped back, the stall door unlatching and opening behind him without so much as a glance. He watched Tony step out, lips pursed briefly. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You always were prone to self-sacrifice. It’s a shame this is just one more that will go unnoticed.”

By the time Tony spun back around, unsure exactly how he was going to reply to that, the bathroom was empty.

~~

They’d all flooded the room at once on the news that Bruce’s symptoms were subsiding, wanting to see him recovering for themselves. As was usual outside of an actual fight, all six of them in one room quickly became a mess of talking over each other, and Bruce quickly began to look overwhelmed and a little pale. Steve caught on first, and quickly made excuses to herd the rest of the team back out, flashing Tony a brief, warm smile as he shut the door behind them.

Tony exhaled slowly, scooting his chair closer to the bed and laying his upper body on the tiny bed next to his lover. “Scared us for a minute there,” he murmured, reaching out for Bruce’s hand, trying to push the circumstances out of his mind.

“Sorry.” Bruce’s voice was quiet, a little tired, but as dry as ever; Tony couldn’t help smiling. Bruce squeezed his hand gently. “S’funny. Couple of years, go from wanting to die and not being able to, to this.” He closed his eyes briefly. “It feels good. To... want to live. Not just ‘not actively want to die anymore,’ but really want to hold on.”

Bruce opened his eyes again, looking up with a weak smile, and Tony felt his heart skip. _A few months. We’re alright now. Everything’s alright. No reason to dwell on it._ He leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Bruce’s forehead, wrapping an arm around his ribs. “Well, I’ll do my best to give you something to hold on to.”

Bruce just smiled, resting his own hands on Tony’s arm, before settling back into the pillow and drifting back towards sleep. Tony closed his eyes, and did his best to relax into the sound of his lover’s slowing breaths.


End file.
